“Don’t be jealous of the help.”
It wasn’t clear if Katsuragi was trying to calm her or incite her as he cut in nonchalantly.
“I’m tired of hearing about the help.”
Seno’o turned on Katsuragi with an annoyed look.
“The only help I know about are the men who do so much hard work for the house up on the second floor. If you mean the sort of work that person can do, that only amounts to basking in the adoring looks of the customers and boring everyone with his interminable dances in the tea rooms. It’s as if he thinks he’s a geisha.”
Seno’o turned her disparaging face on Misao.
“I don’t know how the owner feels about it, but it certainly doesn’t look good.”
Seno’o’s flat declaration annoyed Misao, but before he could answer it, Katsuragi cut in apathetically.
“Could you avoid your shallow politics in front of the customers? I don’t really care about these catfights,” he muttered as if to no one in particular, and walked back to the tea room alone. But Seno’o could not contain her irritation with Misao and she went on.
“I’d like to know how you’ve managed to ingratiate yourself with him so well.”
Seno’o offered Misao a hateful look and her red lips pulled into a cruel bow.
“Perhaps you’re generous with your physical gifts.”
“What did you say?”
Misao smiled lusciously at this vulgar insult.
“I’ve cornered the market on that. I can see that you haven’t picked any of them up, anyway.”
Apparently this response carried well, because Katsuragi’s boisterous laugh could be heard down the hall.
Seno’o was outraged, and she shrieked Misao’s name.
But Misao paid her no attention and departed as if he heard none of what she screeched at him.
He entered the hallway leading toward the rooms and walked in a straight line, maintaining the same pace.
The Oumi Tea House was built around a central garden, and even in the Otobe pleasure quarters, whose streets were lined with brothels big and small, theirs had the greatest pride in simplicity. There were numerous tea rooms for the guests, but if all the sliding doors were taken out the space opened up into a banquet hall. Even when all the doors were shut, the shadows they projected of geisha plucking at their samisens and dancers beating the accompaniment on small drums made for a bustling atmosphere. Disregarding all the festivities, Misao turned down the hallway to the interior garden, then climbed the stairs.
Two flirtatious new girls came down the hall from the other direction. They were at the proverbial base of the ladder. New girls were still training to be companions and could not yet take customers. When the courtesan who served as their older sister and mentor took customers, they accompanied her to the tea rooms. In the entirety of the sequestered life that they would lead, this period was the easiest. They had a lot of free time and one often encountered them wandering the hallways. This was one of those times.
They cast a glance into the so-called reception area, the room for first-time customers, and chirped, “Hello, handsome.” The room was set abuzz instantly and they giggled charmingly behind their sleeves, and scurried primly away.
They were so innocent. How long would that last? Misao wondered as he took a vacant, dispassionate look into the reception area. He saw at once why the girls had fled.
The sliding doors had all been pulled open to create a room big enough for twenty beds. Four new customers sat inside, three of them cross-legged on the floor. Their respective girls sat a slight distance away from each of them, looking professional in their embroidered kimonos.
Only one of the customers was sitting in formal seiza position.
He was so stiff, it looked like he was waiting to begin a tea ceremony. He watched how the girls sat across from him with a peaceful look on his face.
He looked to be more or less the same age as Katsuragi. It was the customer the owner of the introductory tea house had brought here personally only a few minutes ago.
A very young girl in a flirtatious kimono, her hair arranged tightly atop her head, kneeled down beside him to offer a cup of tea and an ashtray. This was Sazu, the maid to Ukigumo, one of the Oumi Tea House’s prostitutes. It seemed they were going to offer their finest jewel to their finest customer.
Too bored to witness the same rituals performed yet again, Misao was on the verge of continuing down the stairs when he heard a voice cry out in an unfamiliar musical scale.
“Thank you very much.”
Misao halted in his tracks, as if he’d reached the end of a leash. He turned around awkwardly. He saw Sazu gazing at the customer, her eyes so wide they looked ready to pop.
Misao was sure he had the same look on his face.
He had never seen a new customer acknowledge the maid before.
“And how old are you?” the man asked Sazu kindly. This was a rare opportunity to hear someone speaking the language with a cultured accent.
“S—se—”
Sazu stuttered, her face filled with shock.
“I am seven... sir.”
“Seven...”
The man mulled over Sazu’s whispered announcement of her age, a look of anxiety flitting over his face.
Eager to escape this unfamiliar situation, Sazu quickly started to get up from her seat. The man lay a hand on the kimono that covered her knee and stopped her, then took something out of his coat pocket. He wrapped it in a white handkerchief and gave it to the girl, whose tiny hand hesitantly scooped it up. He drew his face closer to Sazu and whispered something in her ear.
Sazu shot him a dubious look, but held tightly to the object in her hands.
The man smiled at her placidly and nodded. He had a kind face. Misao found his eyes resting naturally on the man’s profile.
“He works for a big company in the east. His grandfather is the president of the Towa Corporation,” someone said out of nowhere in a secretive whisper. Misao turned his head in wide-eyed surprise. “And he’s an entrepreneur himself, despite how young he is.”